June 1, 1919 -- November 25, 2003
This is the ulogy I wrote for my grandmother's funeral, 5 years ago. The sentiments expressed then hold exactly the same currency today.
If ever there were a person I thought of as the embodiment of Love, it was June. She taught us many things about the world in which we live. I would like to share a few of them with you.
Some of my oldest and fondest memories are of times spent at Gramma’s house. Sleepovers were always a treat. Every supper we shared was by candle light and no matter how much she’d stuffed into me there would always be a last bit of toast and peanut butter just before bed. (She was always afraid that we’d go home and tell our parents that she hadn’t fed us enough—fat chance.)
I learned to shuffle cards before I could properly hold the deck, but that was alright. There was a box of tissues handy to hide the cards behind when there were too many to fan out. She taught me Go Fish, Rummy, Poker, Euchre and in doing so I learned counting, addition, fair play and that it was having fun that mattered, not who won or lost the game.
Even better were the times when all three granddaughters were there to play. So many hands of cards…the box of tissues passed to the smallest of us in turn. Picnics under the willow tree, climbing up the apple trees, and the pear. Exploring in the attic of the garage, where untold the treasures lay hidden. Grandma’s house was a place to imagine, to dream, to draw. There was always a piece of scrap paper and a pencil or a pen to add another piece of art to her gallery proudly displayed at the back door of the house where everyone came in. There was nothing we couldn’t do in her eyes. She taught us to believe in ourselves.
I remember the day that grandpa died. I was seven. I remember that it too was fast; too fast to say goodbye. So fast that we had to hold on tight to the sure knowledge that he loved us. It was very hard on all of us. Especially Gramma. In those first years, while she continued to live alone in their house out at the farm, she taught us about perseverance. She spent 10 years out there. She taught us that even when we are alone, we are never alone. She taught us that the love we carry in our hearts, the memories of those we love, sustain us. She drew deeply from that well-spring and soldiered on. Over 20 years apart never diminished her love of him. Not one bit. She often spoke of Lloyd as if he were still with her and in her heart, he was. Now they are together again. A lifetime of devotion has taught us all how to live as loving couples. To cherish the time we have together on this Earth. And we do.
When we found out she had breast cancer, she continued to teach us hard lessons. I remember seeing her in that hospital room, calm as ever. You see, June had Faith. She had faith in her doctors; better yet, she had faith in God. The prognosis was dire and a radical combination of surgery, kemo and radiation was necessary. To me, it seemed it was all the same to her. It was understood that whatever the doctor wanted of her, she would do. Whatever she had to endure, God would give her the strength to endure. While she practiced faith, we all learned to pray. We prayed as we had never prayed before. Her success got her a mention in the New England Journal of Medicine. The doctors deserved a medal.
10 years after she beat Cancer, she sat in Dr. Holiday’s office as he told her quite plainly, “June, ten years ago, you never should have gotten off that table.” Always one to know just what to say, she leveled that blue gaze at him and replied, “Well I guess that means I still had work to do.”
And work she did. June’s life was built on a firm foundation of service and duty. Joyfully done, I might add, but you all already know that. Whenever there was a need, she was a heartbeat away. She greeted me many a morning when both my parents had to go into work early. She greeted Wannetta and Glenda many days at lunch and after school too. She held the fort at the Christian Science Reading Room for almost 50 years. She also visited the sick in hospital, and the “poor old souls” at the Deerness nursing home. She delivered magazines for the inmates at the detention centre: I know, we went with her, although we waited in the car. And she never called it jail.
She took care of my grandfather’s father, nursing him in their home until he died. Then, she took care of Aunt Hatie until it was time for her to go on too. It was hard work; she never complained. She sat with each of us when we got the chicken pox. She must have been immune; she never got a spot. We always fell asleep with a warm back rub. When we had bad dreams, she told us to roll over so we wouldn’t have another one. We never did. It still works today.
Born at the end of the First World War, June saw the Roaring 20’s complete with Vaudevillian theatre and speak-easies. She saw the first talkie movies, while eating penny candies. She came to a new country and a new family during the Depression. She worked making candies and biscuits for McCormicks. She helped out at Aunt Evelyn’s rooming house during the Second World War. She was a Sunday School Teacher. She could bait a hook and bring in big trout. She and Grandpa had a garden that kept fresh food on their table, as well as the tables of their closest friends too. She was no stranger to the CNE and the Royal Winter Fair after so many years of going to show the goats that Evelyn raised. When they needed extra income to make ends meet, she worked, serving tables at Tilly’s Truck Stop out on Hwy 2. That was before the days of the 401. She attended every school play, every Christmas pageant and every piano recital. She was there for every choir concert. She was our greatest fan. She was everything to everyone. She loved and was loved.
And here she lies, peacefully and restful. After a life of caring for others, she has been rewarded with a death each of us wishes for ourselves. Its quickness cuts us all, but it is the way she wanted to go. And she had time to say good-bye. She wanted us all to know she loved us very much.
I know that the crowd assembled here today to see her off will be equal to the crowd who are waiting to receive her in Heaven. She is reunited with her friends. It would seem that her work has come to an end. We who are left behind…our work here is not finished. It is we who must go on, living in this world without her.
But…each of us carries with us a piece of June in our hearts. We carry the lessons she taught us by living so well. We are here to care for one another as she cared in her own way for each of us. We are here to carry on, to play our part and always to remember, it matters not who wins or loses, but only that we enjoy the game. Love never ends.
I learned to shuffle cards before I could properly hold the deck, but that was alright. There was a box of tissues handy to hide the cards behind when there were too many to fan out. She taught me Go Fish, Rummy, Poker, Euchre and in doing so I learned counting, addition, fair play and that it was having fun that mattered, not who won or lost the game.
Even better were the times when all three granddaughters were there to play. So many hands of cards…the box of tissues passed to the smallest of us in turn. Picnics under the willow tree, climbing up the apple trees, and the pear. Exploring in the attic of the garage, where untold the treasures lay hidden. Grandma’s house was a place to imagine, to dream, to draw. There was always a piece of scrap paper and a pencil or a pen to add another piece of art to her gallery proudly displayed at the back door of the house where everyone came in. There was nothing we couldn’t do in her eyes. She taught us to believe in ourselves.
I remember the day that grandpa died. I was seven. I remember that it too was fast; too fast to say goodbye. So fast that we had to hold on tight to the sure knowledge that he loved us. It was very hard on all of us. Especially Gramma. In those first years, while she continued to live alone in their house out at the farm, she taught us about perseverance. She spent 10 years out there. She taught us that even when we are alone, we are never alone. She taught us that the love we carry in our hearts, the memories of those we love, sustain us. She drew deeply from that well-spring and soldiered on. Over 20 years apart never diminished her love of him. Not one bit. She often spoke of Lloyd as if he were still with her and in her heart, he was. Now they are together again. A lifetime of devotion has taught us all how to live as loving couples. To cherish the time we have together on this Earth. And we do.
When we found out she had breast cancer, she continued to teach us hard lessons. I remember seeing her in that hospital room, calm as ever. You see, June had Faith. She had faith in her doctors; better yet, she had faith in God. The prognosis was dire and a radical combination of surgery, kemo and radiation was necessary. To me, it seemed it was all the same to her. It was understood that whatever the doctor wanted of her, she would do. Whatever she had to endure, God would give her the strength to endure. While she practiced faith, we all learned to pray. We prayed as we had never prayed before. Her success got her a mention in the New England Journal of Medicine. The doctors deserved a medal.
10 years after she beat Cancer, she sat in Dr. Holiday’s office as he told her quite plainly, “June, ten years ago, you never should have gotten off that table.” Always one to know just what to say, she leveled that blue gaze at him and replied, “Well I guess that means I still had work to do.”
And work she did. June’s life was built on a firm foundation of service and duty. Joyfully done, I might add, but you all already know that. Whenever there was a need, she was a heartbeat away. She greeted me many a morning when both my parents had to go into work early. She greeted Wannetta and Glenda many days at lunch and after school too. She held the fort at the Christian Science Reading Room for almost 50 years. She also visited the sick in hospital, and the “poor old souls” at the Deerness nursing home. She delivered magazines for the inmates at the detention centre: I know, we went with her, although we waited in the car. And she never called it jail.
She took care of my grandfather’s father, nursing him in their home until he died. Then, she took care of Aunt Hatie until it was time for her to go on too. It was hard work; she never complained. She sat with each of us when we got the chicken pox. She must have been immune; she never got a spot. We always fell asleep with a warm back rub. When we had bad dreams, she told us to roll over so we wouldn’t have another one. We never did. It still works today.
Born at the end of the First World War, June saw the Roaring 20’s complete with Vaudevillian theatre and speak-easies. She saw the first talkie movies, while eating penny candies. She came to a new country and a new family during the Depression. She worked making candies and biscuits for McCormicks. She helped out at Aunt Evelyn’s rooming house during the Second World War. She was a Sunday School Teacher. She could bait a hook and bring in big trout. She and Grandpa had a garden that kept fresh food on their table, as well as the tables of their closest friends too. She was no stranger to the CNE and the Royal Winter Fair after so many years of going to show the goats that Evelyn raised. When they needed extra income to make ends meet, she worked, serving tables at Tilly’s Truck Stop out on Hwy 2. That was before the days of the 401. She attended every school play, every Christmas pageant and every piano recital. She was there for every choir concert. She was our greatest fan. She was everything to everyone. She loved and was loved.
And here she lies, peacefully and restful. After a life of caring for others, she has been rewarded with a death each of us wishes for ourselves. Its quickness cuts us all, but it is the way she wanted to go. And she had time to say good-bye. She wanted us all to know she loved us very much.
I know that the crowd assembled here today to see her off will be equal to the crowd who are waiting to receive her in Heaven. She is reunited with her friends. It would seem that her work has come to an end. We who are left behind…our work here is not finished. It is we who must go on, living in this world without her.
But…each of us carries with us a piece of June in our hearts. We carry the lessons she taught us by living so well. We are here to care for one another as she cared in her own way for each of us. We are here to carry on, to play our part and always to remember, it matters not who wins or loses, but only that we enjoy the game. Love never ends.
This is the gorge where that leads to the lake. They've blasted it deeply now, adding probably another 20 feet to the depth. Now the water will race over the falls, building up more speed and force so that it creates more than 19 million Kilowatt hours (versus the 11 million it used to produce). Those stats come from the 
This view is no more either. Since the day I took these photos, they've blasted a lot more out of the groud to make a chute leading to the new site of power generation.
Thanks so much to Jamie at 
There were cakes. My mom baked them (to order, no less) before coming down to visit and set the girls to work icing and decorating them. When you are 4 there is lots of work to do. There might have been some sampling of the icing going on there too.
I love that their paint shirts look like lab coats since cooking and baking is always like a science experiment, especially when the girls are concerned.
While at Almonte's Celtfest, I knit like a mad fool all afternoon while listening to Celtic Music and pretty much finished up one of these socks. They are made of Noro Kureyon which was very crunchy stuff but bloomed beautifully when I washed them. I'm waiting for the day I forget to hang them up to dry and they turn into itty-bitty socks that no one will wear (even though I don't think they're itchy at all.)
These socks were born of a desire to have some nice lace to go on my feet. When I had finished one of the socks, I showed them off to my 4 year old daughters. One of them said, "Pretty, Mommy. Are you going to knit another one?" And the other one said, "Oh Mommy, are you going to knit us some?"
The second half of our trip was spent driving down many a back road in search of dance halls and fibre farms (not bran and I did not see William Shatner even once).
Here are a few pictures of our boat ride.
Monday we were back at the dance hall, this time Brook Village (another winding road and wondering when you’ll get there. This hall was absolutely jammed with people. We met up with a couple from Embrum who hold a family square set weekend each month so there’s hope for us to get in a few more dances before next year. But we left early as there wasn’t enough room in that hall to turn around and fart and you hoped dearly that no one else thought there was!
This is a brother of the alpaca at the top of this post. They are such characters.
So after 10 minutes, and having left the paved road, we came upon this little place at the very end of a road. The goats had been sold (the farmers had retired) but there was plently of fibre to be had from this lady's stash. I don't remember her name. I'll dig it out when I spin the fibre. It was worth the trip though. 
Being in the Weaving and Spinning building was really nice because when you work with your hands, you really have the ability to use your ears and your mouth at the same time. So I heard stories of the other students who had spent time in other countries and in the far north, were coping from the affects of car accidents and house fires and family break-ups. It really made me pine for the company of women as we had the binding agent of the love of the college and the crafts to loosely tie such diverse and interesting people together while achieving the goals of learning something new. I can really see the merit in our guilds and knitting circles and quilting clubs, etc. The Weaving cabin has a sense of steeped quietness and secrets and it lends itself to sharing. 
Michelle Stewart (bottom left of the picture) absolutely blew my head off in her bodhran classes. Truly advance drum teaching was wonderful. Not only did I learn new rhythms to use, but she opened my eyes about using sound dynamics and different pitches to effect and I watcher her very carefully to see how she held the tipper and I’ve tried to emulate her economy of movement! This class was worth the trip alone!
Dance class fell at the end of the day. Jean MacNeil, mother of the Barra MacNeils, was just a real treat. Not only can this woman cut a rug, she’s a great teacher who is more than willing to use cool down time (and plenty of it) to tell us stories about being the mother of 6 and what it was like growing up in Washbuck. It doesn’t sound like much on the page, but let me tell you, she had us crying with her stories. And the dance steps were a review of all the ones we learned last year (which none of us had used since then). To my credit though, I continued with this idea of an economy of movement and didn’t end up wrecking my body in class or at the dances we went to.
On Thursday night after the student ceilidh, a bunch of us packed into cars and headed off into the wilds of the night to find Glencoe Station and the dance hall. Mark was kind enough to encourage everyone to go and provided us with a map. 
The dance was not well attended, but that actually meant there was lots of room on the dance floor and I did see some people who I had met at the dances last year. Quite obviously they go all the time all, year round. Beats going to the gym by a long shot.
